


We Are The Hardie Boys

by FlamboyantProblematic



Category: Disco Elysium (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, non-canon backstory, shipping but its part of the plot so its okay, warning: abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-21
Updated: 2020-05-22
Packaged: 2021-03-02 20:14:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 21,026
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24312586
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FlamboyantProblematic/pseuds/FlamboyantProblematic
Summary: A series of semi-connected stories that tell the backstory of Martinaise's heroes, who they were before the Hardies, and what brought them to where they are now. They are, and always will be.... Hardie Boys.
Relationships: Glen/Titus Hardie
Comments: 9
Kudos: 9





	1. Dedication

**To Gaith,**

I've been so excited to share this with you and it's been so hard not talking about it the past month I've worked my ass off to write it. I'm not as knowladgable about the Hardie boys as you, so there might be lore mistakes. I'm sorry in advance. 

You've always wanted Hardie lore, and since we're not getting it in canon, I made some for you (and whoever in the fanbase who cares enough to read this)

I was at a low point in my life when we met. I wrote about stuff I wasn't interested in just to fit in. But you came along and showed me it's okay to be alien as long as I have fun with what I do because eventually someone will care. 

The first piece I wrote that I actually liked was the one I gifted to you. And then we worked on Memento Mori and I think it was something massive for me. I love what we created. We have made our own world for Titus and Glen and I loved it. We had our differences writing it but all in all it was fun. 

In this story, I give you the Memento Mori AU you've always wanted. Plus all the other Hardie boys.

I know you've heard this so many times, but you've made others care about these boys and see them in a different light. Even though sometimes you had your doubts because some people don't like you showing them as actual human beings who make mistakes and grow from it. But it's apparent that everyone knows you as **THE HARDIE BOY.** and I think the fandom will remember you as such for a long time. 

I'm sorry for all the times I've ghosted and will most likely continue to ghost you. But I know you understand it's hard for me. You've been patient with me... just like Titus had been with his boys. And I really appreciate you giving me the time I need to find myself. 

Thank you. You are really a Hardie boy. I think Titus would be very proud of you. 

So I hope you, and whoever reads this, enjoy what I cooked up. 

**To the reader,**

Thank you for taking the time to click on this and hopefully read it. I love these boys and they mean a lot to me. I thought I'd write this out for me, and Gaith, and anyone interested enough.

For a long time, the Hardies were something that made me happy and sad simultaneously. I was happy to have them, I was sad that it seemed like no one cared. I saw Gaith post about them for months constantly. He never cared who saw his work, he just did it because he loved them. That was harder for me. I wanted people to see my work because if they didn't then what's the point of spending so much time on It?

But I continued to do it, not on daily basis like Gaith. I'm still trying to find that strength in me. I'm hoping one day though. 

This is my love letter to the Hardie boys, to ZA/UM, and to whom it may concern. 

Thanks for your support. 

Especially you, ZA/UM. Thank you for giving us these boys.

- _Flam_


	2. Chapter 1: Theodore Malli

The sound of gunfire echoed in the melancholic district. Screams erupt from young lungs, now filled with blood. It’s a massacre. The people have retreated into their homes and locked their doors to avoid the Grim Reaper as it stood in the middle of the field, waiting to claim the souls of those who have yet to live. Dust mixed with snow in the small open area and clouded the place. Through the carnage, the reaper walked, soundless, observing. Its eyes hollow, empty, and lacking life. It did not feel sorrow, nor pain for the ones it carried the souls of, regardless of how young they were. 

For a moment, its empty sockets met the eyes of one older soul, the eldest around. Hair grey, skin dark. He almost looked out of place among the young, and dark as night standing in the snow. 

“Halt! Drop your weapons!” Came a voice from the dust, the reaper did not care. It stood motionless for a long while, staring down the old man. Its scythe taller than its already enormous form, its long black robe dragged behind it, its end fluttered like fire. The old man did not seem concerned by the being’s presence. He cracked his knuckles and glared back at it. This was not their first meeting, and yet, they did not look at one another as old friends, nor did they carry the hatred of old enemies. They simply existed.

After a while, the man thought he had seen that hideous mouth of the creature move, or perhaps it was a trick of the pale. It told him “It’s not your time yet.” And moved on, seemingly hovering.

When the dust cleared, the world was silent. The old man turned his attention back to the bloodied battlefield where children, no older than sixteen lay dead in the arms of his crew mates. 

“Shit, shit…” a pause. “Fuck!!” 

And then it was silent again. 

There were seven of them; three of which chased after the surviving gang members. The rest remained to aid the wounded and carry the dead, including himself.

He knelt beside the younger man, trying desperately to stop one of the kids from bleeding out. It only took one look at the child to know he wasn’t going to make it, and yet the young man lied through his teeth and said, “It’ll be alright.” 

As the old man looked at the child, blood pouring from the corner of his lips, eyes wide with fear, he was reminded of the days of the revolution, just one of many bad memories for the people of Martinaise. He remembered the many wars that he has lived to see, wars he’s been a part of. He does not remember a day where there was peace, where there was no death. He has grown accustomed to it, and far too much that he’s become detached. He can no longer feel sympathy for those fallen ones, no matter how young. His heart was not cold, he just accepted death as a part of life, and sometimes death came too soon. 

His old mind drifted in the now glassy voids of the dead child’s eyes, and in the reflection he saw the battlefields of decades ago. Of a younger version of himself, yet to have any grey hairs on his head. He was armed with a rifle and his courage, his beating heart pumping adrenaline in his veins, keeping him going through the pain. There was a whistling in his ear so deafening that he expected to lose his hearing once all this was over.

Around him his brothers-in-arms fell like flies, and in the smoke, there loomed the creature of death, feasting on the souls of his once friends and their enemies alike. It opened its grand dark robes, and sent them into the eternal darkness within. A flash of hundreds of small arms reaching out within the robe to grab the soul could be seen, dragging the translucent figures into the hungry sharp teethed stomach of the beast, and then they closed the garment. 

The reaper looked at the old man with its hallow, expressionless face, and then went on to have its next meal. 

Under the man’s feet, blood flowed like rivers. Thousands of soulless eyes stared at him. He could almost see the terror and pain in them. He’s lived this memory many times, it was always the same, only in different fields. Soon the maggots will have at them, and he will continue to live on.

“Theo…” He heard a voice in the distance. Something alien and new. He gripped his weapon close and watched as the clouds surrounded him. “Theo…” he got ready to fire. “Theo!” came the voice again somewhere in the clouds of dust and death. He turned to the left, to the right, but there was no one there. When he faced forward again, all the blood was gone, all the bodies vanished. There was just him, and the misty abyss of war. “Theo!” The voice was louder, it came from nowhere and everywhere. “What the fuck, man?” He blinked, and suddenly he was in Martinaise again. “You gone deaf, old man?”I It was a genuine question.

Theo said nothing, instead he stared at the dried blood on his uniform, a print of a giant hand where Titus Hardie’s fingers once were. The young man was still soaked in blood and dirt. His white fingerless boxing gloves were painted red and brown, and his clothes were in a pitiful state.

Titus stepped closer to him, eyes narrowing, a look of concern on his face. Theo ignored it. “Get the boys.” Was all Theo said before walking away.

There were no bodies in his path, only red on snow, and his lonesome dark figure. The ghosts were long gone.

The crew reunited. They drank in silence for a moment. No mission of theirs felt like a success when they had to tell some poor mothers that their children are no longer on this planet. They did what they could, they had to convince themselves of that every day or otherwise they’ll just quit. They celebrated their little victories, they had to give themselves a reason to keep going, a reminder that sometimes life is shit, but it’s better to fight than lay down and accept defeat.

“We have to get rid of the guns we found.” Said the other Aeropagite in the group. 

“Leave that to me.” The blonde chimed in before taking another sip of his beer. 

They discussed plans of what to do next, and Theo watched them try to come up with the best solution, but he knew there were none. There was only a decent outcome, but they’ll take it over nothing. 

They were full of determination, Theo admired that. Two decades ago, this place was set to burn in flames. It took ten years for someone to step up, and that was Theo. Busting a drug deal, armed only with his old trusty gun. But he managed with the help of some good folks who were tired of the way things have been, mostly Union dockworkers and some fearless citizens, and that was the beginning of something great. It was the beginning of a movement. A spark of hope.

Theo found himself stopping baddies more frequently, like it was his job to do so. People didn’t seem to mind. Martinaise needed some kind of superhero to make life a little convenient for the people. No one expected a 45 year old man, but they weren’t complaining.

And then one day, there was that ambitious boy, with so much fire in his eyes. Young, sharp featured, well built, like he spent a lot of time in a ring. With him was an equally masculine blonde fellow, following him around like a lost puppy. Theo could tell, the blonde would go to hell and back with the other man. He trusted him with his life. Unlike the other man, the blonde had no fire, but storms that waged in his bright blue ocean eyes. A look that seemed somewhat familiar to Theo. He has seen it on those on the edge of their sanity, people who have gone to one too many wars. This kid was far too young to have that look. Too young to seem this unhinged. But alas, he knew the boy was just a product of a harsh life in a harsh environment. What was important now was… would he be willing to fight for the right cause?

“Titus Hardie,” The older of the two introduced himself, extending a hand to shake the dark skinned man’s own. “This is my friend, Glen.”

Theo glanced at the blonde, expecting him to say something like give his last name.

The blonde shrugged. “Just Glen.” He didn’t reach out for a handshake. He did not trust Theo.

“Theodore Malli.” 

Titus nodded. “It’s a good thing you’ve done here, Theo. Martinaise needs some good folks.” There was silence for a moment then Titus spoke again. “You’re pretty handy with a gun. But you ain’t no cop.”

He shook his head.

“You a soldier?”

“Was.”

He said nothing else, so the younger man took the hint and ended the conversation there. But the pair came back every day, they worked well together. Despite being similar physically, they were not at all the same in personality, nor their set of skills. The cap wearing boy was much more composed, less hot headed. He almost reminded Theo of himself when he was younger. He was a bright thinker, a natural leader. Meanwhile, the blonde was a powerhouse. Theo could tell every punch carried a lot of bitterness and hate. Had this kid not chosen this path, he might have just ended up like the others… in a gang… or dead. The blonde was also very knowledgeable about guns. He could name any of them, and most importantly, he was a damn good shot. 

With time, new faces appeared Titus would pitch an idea to why they would be good to the team from a strategic standpoint. It was like he was forming his own crew. Theo didn’t argue. The small humble group of fighters looked up to the old greying man as a leader, even the young Hardie. They trusted his judgment. Maybe because he was the one who took the first step. Regardless, he led them as best as he could for years and they’ve seen many battlefields together. They risked their lives for a dying district, for north Jamrock, where the wind was always cold and the earth had little to provide for its people. This gutter. A place inhabited by poverty stricken folks, trying to make it through life one day at a time. This was where people washed up when they hit the bottom of the barrel. And yet, here they were… fighting for it like it’s god’s best damn nation… and maybe it was. 

Where else would people give their lives for so little?

For the first time in decades, there was hope. For the first time, Martinaise was finally fighting back.

Now, there were seven of them. Full time dockworkers, full time vigilantes. They gathered at a humble hostel named “The Whirling-In-Rags” every day, maps in hand, guns on their belts. They weren’t cops, no one saw them as such. But people respected their efforts, and respected them as an authority. They were better than cops. 

Theo could look at his boys and feel proud; proud of himself, proud of what they achieved. He didn’t want to honk his own horn, but he could tell the people of Martinaise with certainty that this place would not have made it this far without them. All things considered, what they were doing was no short of a miracle. They had little, but they made do. What else could they ask for.

Things have changed over the years. Their bodies wore scars like medals, a testament to their will and dedication. Their bond has grown stronger. A ride or die kind of relationship that could withstand the test of time. 

They renamed, instead of being known as vigilantes, they were now known to Martinaise as “The Hardie Boys.”

Theo was no longer the leader, he has grown too old. But they still looked for guidance in him.

When he looked at Titus Hardie now, he saw a dumb kid, far too ambitious, just like he had been all those years ago. And maybe that’s just what Martinaise needed, it seemed to have been working so far.

The soothing sounds of a guitar filled their little box with morale boosting melodies, the boys cheered and laughed and sang. They survived another day, they deserved to celebrate. Theo sat in his usual corner with a pipe in his mouth, smoke forming a cloud above his head. He took in the sight before him, of the dockworkers union’s greatest men, chugging down beer like there’s no tomorrow, and perhaps there won’t be. But they lived, and with them, Martinaise lived. He smiled to himself, too faint for anyone to notice…

He was proud to be a Hardie boy.


	3. Chapter 2: Angus Davis

The hostel was busy, or so it seemed. There was never a quiet moment in the union booth. Seven Hardie boys sat in their box, usually occupied by the Dockworker's Union. It's only been a few weeks since he was officially named a Hardie boy. He still didn't feel comfortable in the seat he was in, still felt like a stranger among these people when they have already seemed to have formed bonds. 

His anxiety, coupled with his weight, made him a heavy sweater. Water soaked his back and made his forehead shiny. It made his stomach nervous, the sounds coming from it was something he couldn't help but it was embarrassing nonetheless.

It was hard for him to join the conversation, everyone's voice felt louder than his own. Afraid of saying the wrong thing, he stayed quiet, and watched as one giant blonde man and his equally large friend laughed like old friends, and perhaps they were. He didn't know much about the people in the group aside from what little information they shared. He knew their names though;

The blonde was Glen. He had a nasty look on his face most the time, like he was constantly in a state of anger, even if not provoked. He was scared of him. He reminded him a lot of kids at school, the type that pushed him around and laughed at him.

With him was Titus Hardie, the heart of the group. Angus thought of him as glue, he was the one that connected everyone and everything together. He was serious when needed, but most the time he was laid back and chill. Despite him being similarly built to Glen, Titus looked far more friendly. 

Next was Theo. Angus knew little to nothing about him. He didn't talk much, just smoked and observed. He didn't seem like someone Angus wanted to be enemies with. Theo was the founder of the group, the leader before Titus. He was still respected as such, He was also the eldest.

Then Shanky, or Dennis. Angus hated him. He always made fun of him for his body. No one laughed at his jokes except him, but he kept on making them anyway. He was mean and unfriendly to the bone and what made it sadder was the fact that he was proud of it.

Alain, he was a little fidgety in the early days. Something about prison? He has a lot of tattoos; all over his arms, his neck, his chest, most likely other places too. He looked somewhat intimidating but he never did or said anything wrong to Angus. He seemed to hold a grudge against the law, and cops in general. Whatever that personal vendetta he carried was, he was still not ready to share it.

And then there was Eugene, another mystery. He sat by himself, drank milk, and played guitar. He wore his plectrum around his neck like a necklace and refused to play during karaoke nights, claiming he was too good for such a thing... and he was. Angus liked his music. Much like Theo, Eugene didn't talk much. He mostly observed. 

"What do you think, Angie?"

Angie, the name Titus Hardie has gives him instead of Angus. He liked it. Titus was nice to him, out of all the other he looked the kindest. He made everyone feel like everything was gonna be alright with just a smile. 

"Um..." He wasn't sure what to say. He needed time to think. Titus was patient but the others weren't.

"Titus asked ya a question, fatty."

"Hey, give the big man some time to think," Titus took a sip of his beer. "Go ahead, Angie."

The youngest Hardie nodded, Titus's patience was enough to give him some confidence. He looked over the maps spread on the table, and some notes that Titus had scribbled down. 

The place could use some surveillance, maybe starting right here, at the Whirling where they always sat. Angie was handy with gadgets. He could install some cameras, some bugs, but most of all, he thought the Hardie boys needed a better means of communication. "We need radios, I could probably find some, if not, we can make some with the right tools." 

The group nodded. "Pigs hog the lines. Guess we can work with some sort of walkie-talkie."

Angus took the pen and marked some places on the map. "We should check these places. I want to see if they're good to set some cameras. Get us some eyes on the location. That way we'll know about trouble before it even happens."

"Think you can get some cameras workin'?"

He shrugged. "I hope so."

That was good enough for Titus. "Nice job," He gave the young man a pat on the back then was busy with his beer again. "I'm pretty sure Evrart has his eyes around Martinaise already. He won't mind if we have our own, but I'll have a talk with him tomorrow."

Machines made for good friends, Angus always thought. They weren't anything like humans. Angus could build himself a friend and it wouldn't spit insults at him. In fact, there were a few times where the young man gathered up enough scraps to make himself a robot friend. 

He wasn't sure where he got the skills from, he wasn't extremely educated. Sometimes big words confused him. But somehow he was handy with tools and junk. 

It was a useful skill. That's why Titus approached him and offered him a position in his crew. They needed him, or at least Titus made him feel like they did. These guys wouldn't know their way around complex wires, so Angus had to convince himself that it was true. They did need him...

At that thought, Angus felt a little more comfortable for the rest of the night. He pushed away the paranoid part of himself that told him that they were using him, he had to. 

He had to.

As the days went by, he thought it would get easier, being surrounded by people who he now called "friends", but it never did get easier. He still had trouble breathing, still felt like a fuck up. Everyone was doing something, he was too anxious to give his two cents. But he wanted to! He wanted to be a part of this so much. He wanted to be a Hardie boy. So he tried, every now and then he gave himself the chance to try. 

Sometimes it paid off. He felt confident when he got Hardie's approval, when the other boys praised him, and sometimes it made him the laughing stock of the group. But it wasn't as bad as he expected. Titus ended it fairly quickly.

He didn't like being the punchline of a joke he wasn't willing to be a part of, especially to one rat faced fuck who made it a habit to pick on him. 

It unearthed memories he would prefer to keep buried but now they were plaguing his mind and made him sink into his seat, staring blankly at the drink in his hand. 

He heard their insults from every direction. "Fat-ass." 

"You're gonna eat that when you're already so fucking fat?" 

"Look at this fat fuck."

"Smells like shit too."

He remembered being a kid, being pushed down a hill while the others laughed at him. He remembered being called a pussy for crying. He remembered being shoved, kids taking away his things and running away with them knowing damn well he couldn't run after them, and then they made fun of him some more.

He ate because it made him feel better. He couldn't stop himself. He couldn't stop himself from crying. Everything fucking sucked.

"You shouldn't let them push you around like that, Angus." His sister told him. "You're big and tough." 

His sister was practically his best friend, aside from his cats and dogs of course. It hurt her to see her little brother down. 

The two didn't have much, but they had a roof over their heads, and they had their animal friends, and they had each other. That was enough for Angus. He was thankful he at least had those things. He just wished he didn't disappoint his sister so often by being such a fuck up. 

"You're not a fuck up." She told him. "You're a smart kid, and you're gonna do great things. You just don't know it yet."

She gave him a tissue to wipe his tears. His dogs piled around him, and on top of them lay their cats, sleeping, blissfully unaware of just how hard life was for the big kid. But they were there for him regardless.

"Chin up," she said. "Mom wouldn't want to see you crying," Her words eased him and gave him some comfort. "You got something those kids don't got. A big heart in that big body. Don't let them take that away from you, Angus."

A big heart, Titus Hardie told him that too. 

"You alright, Angie?" He snapped out of his thoughts and saw the Aeropagite man tuning out his guitar. For a moment he thought he had imagined the man talking to him, but then he looked at him, his dark skin made his green eyes look brighter, he was calm, almost too calm to the point of looking uninterested. "You seemed out of it, man." He played a few notes, his guitar becoming the center of his attention again. "Don't let Shanky get to you. He's a cunt."

Angus chuckled. He couldn't agree more. It was hard to tell from where he sat but he thought he saw the other man smile too. 

"Tell you what, how about we do the scouting mission tomorrow? The others can get their hands busy with something else. There's a lot to do."

He nodded. "Yeah. Sounds good."

This time he definetly saw the man smile. "Nice." Was all he said, and then he played a song on his guitar. His skilled fingers hovered over the strings like it was second nature to him. Angus guessed he must have been playing for a long time. The music seemed to have rallied the group even further, their voices boomed through the four walls, beer spilled onto the floor, and no one gave a fuck. 

Angus admired the musician. He never knew why the man always sat on his own in a corner, but he knew that if Titus Hardie was this group's heart then Eugene was its soul. Aside from Titus, he certainly liked him most. He didn't talk much but didn't mind being a part of the conversation. He was confident, believed in his skills. Maybe Angus was a little envious of him, he wished he could be that badass. And maybe... just maybe, he can be. After all, despite how hard it was for him to be here, he still made it to the meetings every day. He was willing to get picked on just to be here. 

That something grand his sister told him about? It might as well be this. He wouldn't want to be anywhere else in the world. 

As the guitar got louder, so did the other Hardie boys. There was nothing spectacular to celebrate but they partied every night like living itself was an achivment worthy of celebrating. Maybe that's what it was. Maybe the fact that Angus has made it this far was worth chugging down bottles of beer for, and singing drunkly with a bunch of strangers that became his brothers-in-arms. 

So he sang, and he celebrated, and for a moment he felt his anxiety become nothing but a memory of the past. 

He was a Hardie boy. He was someone. 

The day they had their first successful mission, he went home and told his sister.

She was concerned at first. Her little brother being a part of a group of vigilantes that "fight crime", but she's never seen him more determined, so happy, so excited and convinced that this is where he's meant to be. He felt like he belonged. Her concern turned into pride. She wished him the best and hoped that one day, if she ever met this 'Titus Hardie', then it wouldn't be for a tragedy. 


	4. Chapter 3: Dennis Bailey

A small figured man sat under one of the trees, bathing in its shade, not that they saw the sun often in Martinaise. It snowed more often than not, the cold was insufferable. But they were built for it. He watched his new crew work on getting rid of a pile of guns. Shame, he thought. They could always use more firepower. But Titus and Theo were content with what they had and preferred that this place be gun free. They planned on making guns harder to access, especially for kids. 

Frankly, Shanky thought it was dumb. If kids want guns they'll find a way to get guns, just like they got drugs.. But whatever. The Hardie boys had ambition, and they'll see their plans through. He wasn't surprised, being led by Titus Hardie, they were sure to have fire in them.

Titus was determined, Shanky knew that first hand. They had history, brief as it was, they still had one. 

Shanky must have been twenty seven at the time; young, cunning, reckless. He was still two of those three things. But at the time, he was at his peak. He was a featherweight boxer, his small body gave him an advantage against his opponents. He was agile and quick on his feet, and with a little fox like thinking, it was easy for him to knock out even the biggest opponents. 

The belt on his waist was a testament to his greatness. And with success came love. He married, and everything seemed like it couldn't get any better. 

But it didn't take long for him to remember that this was Martinaise, your luck is bound to eventually run out. 

His career took a rocky turn, his marriage was failing. He turned to alcohol and it only made things worse. He got addicted, became an alcoholic, and it was just a downwards spiral from there. Eventually the arguing, his irrational behavior, and the non-stop drinking drove away the only woman that ever loved him (not including his mother, of course)

After that, it was just him and himself. 

He continued on with his career, keeping people at a knife's distance, or rather a shank. A small makeshift weapon he made himself that he carried around just because he was that kind of guy. He got a reputation for it too, so much so that people started calling him Shanky. 

He wasn't planning on murdering anyone. He just thought it made him look more intimidating, and he liked the idea of people being afraid of him. It was easy for him to spook a few big guys when he had a blade in hand. 

But one man didn't seem intimidated by that, and that was a young prizefighter by the name of Titus Hardie. 

He came into the scene like he fucking owns the place. He was a big guy, lots of scars on his body that told Shanky that he shouldn't be messed with. But he seemed to get along with everyone. Even his enemies respected him. 

Shanky had to admit that he did as well. You can detest a person but still admit they're good at what they do. 

"Good luck out there today, champ." The younger fighter told him.

Shanky nodded. "I won't go easy on you." His voice carried resentment he wasn't even sure he had, maybe he was trying to sound threatening. It went over the big man's head regardless.

"I sure hope you don't."

It was a long match, probably the longest one he's been a part of. He needed more than just speed and cunning thinking for that one. But it has made him truly respect the prizefighter. He just refused to go down!

Perhaps it was the shouts of one blonde man in the crowd that kept him going, perhaps it was pure adrenaline. All Shanky knew was, when that knockout punch came, he should have seen it coming. 

They met after the fight to congratulate one another on a good performance. They shook hands, Titus offered Shanky to take him out for a drink. 

"You a fighter too?" He said to the blonde he saw earlier in the crowd. 

His cold blue eyes narrowed, Shanky felt like shrinking under the Iccy gaze but he stood his ground. He was suddenly feeling like the air was freezing, it made the hair on the back of his neck stick up. "No." One word, two letters. But it told Shanky all he needed to know about the man. He was unkind. If he had been fighting this man instead, he might have ended up in the medical center.

"Dennis, this is Glen."

They didn't shake hands. 

Whatever issues this blonde bitch had, Shanky did not want to be a part of it. 

They chugged beer till they were drunk that night. It did not feel like a night with friends. He was mostly there for free beer. The blonde man and his friend laughed at things only they understood. Titus tried to strike up a conversation with Shanky but the man lied about almost everything. He might have respected him, but they were not even acquaintances. 

But apparently Shanky left an impression because all these years later, Titus showed up in his life again and asked him if he wanted to join "a modest group", they were going to change Martinaise, he said. They'd make it a better place, look out for the people, become heroes. He was down in his luck and at the end of his career. Titus made the bargain good when he said he could work for the union.

While Shanky had no interest in making Martinaise better for anyone, he did like the idea of fame and glory, the attention, the status. So he agreed. 

And now here he was, in this small dump of a hostel, encouraging his addictions by chugging down beer after beer with a couple of strangers he was meant to lay down his life for, emphasis on 'meant to.’ Across from him sat Titus Hardie with his back facing him, he was on top of the table, talking to the same blonde fellow that was with him all these years back. From where he sat, he could somewhat make out the man’s face; it was a lot softer than he remembered, probably because he was smiling. He still looked mean as fuck, and seeing the man swing his fist first hand now confirmed his thoughts from back then… he does not want to fight him, not without his shiv anyway. His voice told Shanky that the years have been unkind to him and he had to resort to smoking just to keep his mind of just how fucked up his life was. 

Titus hasn’t changed much; he was still that ambitious young fighter. Maybe the man was naive, or bat-shit-crazy to think that he and a bunch of dumb fucks can change anything in Martinaise. They had an old man who is way past his prime, a fat fuck who smelled like shit, some guy who ran away from jamrock to escape the law, and a guy with a guitar. It’s sad really. Well, Shanky was just along for the ride, so he didn’t really care. Plus, free beer. 


	5. Chapter 4: Eugene Antra

The wind was cold and merciless. It did not caress the soft dark skin, but rather dug its frostbite nails into him, and kissed his lips harshly. The man could do nothing but pull his jacket close, asking it for comfort. But it has given him all the warmth it could give. 

The drifter's journey was long, as it was meant to be. There was no destination after all, he simply went where the music took him. When night came, he rested in whatever shelter he could find, and made a living playing his guitar. The only friend he had, carried on his back. He didn’t hate this life, he chose it. Somehow, during his journey, he ended up in North Jamrock, a small run down district. The road to there was a story made for a song. The further he was from Jamrock, the less he saw police officers patrolling, until law was just a melody of the night, unheard of by the people. And with the lack of authority, crime became more and more prevalent. This song had no new lyrics, however, the drifter was used to this tide of good and bad. He wouldn’t say he was a fan of the RCM, he certainly did not have much respect for them, and often played the strings of their music with detest. But he preferred to keep to himself and stay out of trouble if he could help it, and luckily, most the time, they would let him be. 

Before winding up in the district of Martinaise, he had stopped by a carnival where he stayed for a long time, and made friends with the strangers there. At night, they would gather by the fire and he would raise their spirit with a few tunes. They accepted him as one of their own, and it was tempting to go with them when they had asked him to. He could just travel with them, anywhere, everywhere. But he declined their offer, he chose the lonely road. They were sad to see him go, but promised to see him again one day.

Now he found himself sitting on a bench playing his sad songs for people passing by so he could afford to rent a room, to avoid the harsh cold night, and hopefully not freeze to death. 

“Well I'll be darned,” He heard a voice say, he didn’t lift his head to see the figure standing in front of him, he simply kept on playing. Then suddenly there were two shadows over him, broad and huge. For a moment he thought of pulling his guitar case closer to him in case they were here to steal his hard earned Rèals, but when more money dropped into the case, he felt relieved, as though he just avoided a fight he knew he wouldn't win. “That’s some mighty fine playin’, fella.”

The musician took note of the southern accent, folks from the Old South? Curiosity got the best of him; he raised his head to see the man speaking to him. A tall, broad shouldered man with an orange rugby hat that shaded his narrow eyes and protected his head from the snow. His smile seemed friendly enough, but the drifter learned not to trust looks. With him was an equally masculine man, long blonde hair, wearing a heavy red jacket and a matching red hat. Smoke rose from a lit cigarette that was in between his lips, the dim light of it was enough to make his features visible. His bright blue eyes pierced the musician’s soul, so he focused more on the friendlier one.

“Thank you.”

The man nodded, “It’s pretty fuckin’ cold out here. Why are you out playin’ at such a late time?” There was a moment of silence and then it seemed like the big guy understood. ”Say, I like to think I know everyone in Martinaise, but I don’t remember seein’ you before. I reckon you’re new here?”

He shrugged.

“Well there’s a cozy little hostel not far from here,” The big guy pointed behind him. “Come on, we’ll take you there.”

The musician wasn’t big on trusting people but it was either that or freeze so he packed up and followed the two. 

“Name’s Titus Hardie, and this here is my friend, Glen.”

A pause, the wind howled, and then, “Eugene," Another gust of wind, "Eugene Antra."

“Mighty nice to meet you, Eugene. Welcome to Martinaise.”

As they were walking, the blonde man took the cigarette from his mouth and exhaled the smoke in a way Eugene can only describe as that of a dragon. He handed the cigarette to his friend who accepted it and took a drag of his own. They spoke among themselves, the wind would not allow the musician to hear them. 

The blonde's expression softened, a smile graced his lips. The tips of his ears sticking out from under his hair were red, most likely from the cold. 

The streets were empty, haunted by the howls of souls long forgotten. They passed by some run down buildings, and for a moment the musician felt as though there were eyes peaking out from the rubble, watching them.

Then there was the big red neon sign, finally, after a while of walking, the sign read “Whirling-In-Rags”

“Well, here we are,” Titus Hardie said, handing the cigarette back to his friend. “Me and my friend were actually gonna have a few drinks here, you wanna join us?”

The truth was, Eugene didn’t want to. He wanted to take a warm shower and get some rest, also he didn’t drink, not often anyway.

“I’m fine, thanks.”

“You gotta eat at least.”

He was hungry… so he held back a sigh and then nodded. “Sure.”

The big man seemed happy with that. 

They entered the hostel and Titus pointed at a small room before calling out for the woman behind the counter. Before entering the room, Eugene’s eyes caught a small paper on the wall that said ”Mess Hall, reserved for the Dockworker’s Union.”

They sat down, got a few drinks and some food. The blonde man put out his cigarette and carelessly flicked it in a random direction. No one seemed to care.

“Where are you from, Eugene?”

The Aeropagite shrugged, “No where, everywhere.”

Though the words seemed to confuse him, the man nodded. “I see,” he looked over at the guitar. “Nice shit. You’ve been playin’ for long?”

It was most likely all he knew. “Yeah. As long as I can remember.”

He pointed somewhere blocked by the wall behind him. “They got a karaoke machine. You sing?”

Eugene snorted. Karaoke was for drunk folks. “Think I’ll pass, man.”

“Suit yourself,” He chugged down his beer. “Plannin’ on stayin’ here for long?”

“Not really.”

“Shame. Martinaise might look like a dump but it’s a good place, full of good people. You might just like it here.”

He didn't really have a response so he said nothing. 

There was a moment of silence as he ate then he lifted his head. “Can I ask some questions now?”

Titus grinned. “Shoot.”

The musician looked at the blonde. “What type of gun are you carrying?”

Glen tilted his head and smirked, patting his side where he carried his gun. “Oh, her?” He leaned across the table. “She’s a beauty, and she’s also none of your god damn business.”

Titus smacked him on the back of the head. “Behave.”

Glen huffed. Eugene could almost smell the smoke on his breath. 

The older one of the two seemed to be an authority of sort. The two were clearly friends but his demeanour shifted whenever the blonde did something he didn’t like. It was like watching a lion tamer at work, fully knowing he’s in a cage with a predator, and having to prove himself as leader of the pride. Eugene made a note of that.

“He likes his guns, not really the topic you want to open with him unless you’re discussing a murder,” He chuckled. The musician didn’t find it funny. “Oh don’t worry, he hasn’t killed anyone,” a pause. “Well, not anyone who didn’t deserve it.”

“And you can just do that?”

“Yeah, I do whatever the fuck I want.”

“Glen!”

The blonde fell silent. 

“Listen,” Titus sighed. “Truth is, cops haven’t shown their face here in a decade. Things are shit. We carry guns with us to protect ourselves.”

Great, Eugene thought.

“But things are changin’, the dockworkers Union got shit handled,” he pointed at himself then at his blonde friend. “We got shit handled; me, Glenny, and a few other good folks.”

“So what? You’re “cops”?” He made quotes in the air with his fingers.

“No, we’re better than cops. We actually give a fuck.”

Yeah, Eugene heard this bullshit before. 

“Thanks for the meal. Think I’ll go check if I can get a room.”

Titus nodded and let the man go.

After getting his room, it wasn’t hard for him to find comfort in the run down bed, wrap himself in blankets, forget all about the shower, and fall asleep.

The sound of the ocean outside carried him away and drowned out the growls of the wind, he was drifting, drifting in his dreams. Walking on strings, humming a special song he knew by heart; every beat, every note. It was his song. It was perfect…

Until it wasn’t. Until the the notes seemed off, and he fell off the thin thread where the ocean swallowed him. 

His eyes snapped open and he stumbled on his way to the window where it sounded like the world was ending. Outside, a boy and a girl, too young to be carrying firearms, were running and sending a barrage of bullets flying everywhere. Behind them, a familiar broad shouldered man accompanied by another man that Eugene wasn’t familiar with, chasing them down while trying to avoid getting shot. On the other end of the hostel, the blonde man surprised the boy, cutting off his path. He reached out and quickly disarmed the child, and by the time the girl tried to react, her gun was taken from her as well. 

“HELP!” The girl yelled. “THESE STRANGE MEN ARE TOUCHING ME!”

“THEY HAVE GUNS.” The boy joined in.

Titus tossed the confiscated guns to Glen. “Get rid of them,” He ordered, the blonde nodded. “Shanky, let’s take these guys back and see if we can find the rest of their little gang. Find us at the docks later, Glenny. Grab Theo.”

“You got it, bossman.” Both of them said and then went on with their assigned missions.

Titus lifted his head and saw Eugene looking down at them. “The sun rises on Martinaise, Mornin.”

“Hey, man. What the fuck?”

Titus simply chuckled and walked off with the young boy in hand.

After finally getting that warm shower (that wasn’t really that great), Eugene left the hostel, poking his head out the door, fearing another rain of bullets. Once he was sure the coast was clear, he made his way outside. 

He spent most the day exploring, against his better judgment. There wasn’t a lot to see in Martinaise, and perhaps thats just what he needed to find his muse. Old buildings, lonely people, disturbed children, gang wars, and a couple of idiots who think they’re heroes. 

He stood by ocean, and watched the waves dancing against the ships. The docks were loud and ruined his groove, but he didn’t mind. 

“Careful, you don’t want someone pushin’ you overboard.” A heavy melody, raspy, not too pleasing to the ear. He didn’t need to turn around to know who it was.

The blonde man stood next to him, cigarette in hand. He took a long drag then exhaled. 

“If you’re lookin’ for the boss, he’s up in his office.”

“No, I was just checking out the place,” Silence stretched out beyond the horizon and then, “What did you do to the kids from earlier?”

“Killed ‘em and tossed their bodies in this here water,” He said it so nonchalantly that Eugene wasn’t sure if he was kidding. The blonde turned to him and gave him a mean smile. “Relax, we don’t do that shit here. But I don’t talk Hardie business with strangers,” He dropped the cigarette and stomped on it with his boot. “Anyway, I gotta get back to work before Titus chews my ear off.” He laughed at the thought like it would be something he would enjoy, and then walked off. 

“What the fuck?” Eugene said under his breath.

When night came around, he returned to the hostel. He was planning on leaving the next day. He has seen enough of this melancholic place. 

“Hey, Eugene!” 

He sighed and then turned towards the Union hall. Titus gestured for him to come over. The man was sitting comfortably on the bench, an arm around his drunk blonde friend who looked all too happy to be where he was. With them were three others; A rat faced man, he remembered him from earlier… Shanky. And an older man, dark skinned, most likely Aeropagin like himself. Finally there was a young fellow, big in size, breathing heavily.

“Sit, sit. I was just tellin’ the guys here about your music.”

Eugene acknowledged the others with a nod.

“Well, show us what you got, pal.” The small rat man said.

“Why would I play for you?” He didn’t care if it came off as insulting. Shanky most certainly looked like he took it that way. 

“Easy, Shanky. Let’s not put the guy on spot.” He pointed his beer bottle at the musician. "Play for the Union, as a job.”

The blonde man’s head shot up, he blinked a few times then leaned towards his friend. “Shouldn’t you ask Evrart first?”

Titus waved his hand dismissively. “He’ll be alright with it. The workers could use some morale boost.”

“I really think you should ask Evrart first.”

He put his hand up to silence his friend, “Can it, Glen.”

The blonde rolled his eyes. “Whatever.”

“Listen, thanks for the offer, man. But I don’t really think I wanna stay here.”

“Think about it.”

He wasn’t going to let this go. 

“For now just sit with us! Let us tell you a little bit about this place.”

And they sang like birds, blabbering stories that were only fit for songs, exactly the type bards would play at taverns. And maybe that’s just what this was, drunken blabbers. It was entertaining at least. Eugene found himself enjoying it somewhat. The small crew were full of life, Enough to stay? Unlikely.

At least that’s what he thought, because ten years later, he was still here. The Union’s musician. Till this day he wasn’t really sure what made him stay. Has the group grown on him? He didn’t feel that. What he felt though, was an undying respect for Titus Hardie. He seemed to have that effect on people. No one could really hate him. The man oozed charm. And he was an honest man. The folks with him might be a bit loopy, but Eugene learned to get comfortable in their company. In all honesty, it wasn’t so bad. He got paid to do something he loved, got to make a change and help people who need it. 

This Hardie boy business? He doesn’t see himself doing it for the rest of his life (of course if he even lives for much longer.) But for now, he’s content with his life. One day the old road will call back to him, and he will leave this all a memory, and maybe, just maybe, this story will be his greatest song ever written. One that will be remembered for centuries, one that he will sing with pride, and hopefully with joy.


	6. Chapter 5: Alain Delmoore

The four walls were dark and lonely. The air was suffocating. He was alone, alone with his thoughts and regrets. There were no sounds to distract him from his own mind, nothing but the drip drip dripping of water, ringing too loudly in his ears. Where were his compadres now... 

Some ran and left him for dead, the others who were caught... well, he could only imagine that they were suffering the same fate at the hands of the Reunion. 

His life in the Villalobos was never easy. This wasn't his first run-in with the law. In fact, he doesn't remember a time where he wasn't running away from the cops. 

In the darkness he could see a projection of his memories. A younger version of him appeared before his eyes, sitting in front of police officers. Hours upon painful hours of interrogation. The yelling, all the different tactics they used on him to break him. 

It didn't stop, it never stopped. Two officers walked out, two others walked in. And when "talking" didn't work, they got physical. When that didn't work, they threw him here, in this small dingy cell, away from everything and everyone. Fuck, fuck, fuck. He was going to go insane in here.

In front of him, burly shadowy figures danced with their fists. He saw blobs of shapes get tossed back and forth. In his head, he could hear the noises so loud, of prisoners fighting among themselves, fighting against the guards. It was brutal. 

He has seen men being dragged mercilessly to the chair, put to death, and then become nothing. Not even a memory. Those were his people, his men, his amigos. They didn't care who they sent to the chair. Didn't care if they had families. 

His thoughts made his eyes water, and he rubbed the burning sensation away immediately. He wouldn't let this place break him. 

He had to get out. So he occupied his mind with making a plan. They were bound to open that door sooner or later, and when they did, he had to make a run for it. 

And just then… sirens. The brightest flashing lights Alain had ever seen peeking in from the small thin line under the door, filling the room with red. The door clicked. Alain slowly stood up and headed towards it. More red seeped into the lonely cell, and Alain thought he might have ended up in inferno. 

Carefully, he opened the door, and it was suddenly like life bustled through the prison. He heard people screaming, he heard the heavy stomping of boots against the concrete. "Down with La Policía" echoed through the halls. 

It was a riot. Prisoners have taken over the Reunion. He joined the them and picked up whatever weapon he could get his hands on. 

He felt little remorse for the dead guards in the halls, even when their bodies were mutilated. These fuckers deserved it. 

When he saw the sun, he never felt more thankful. But he knew he couldn't stay in Jamrock anymore, nor go back to the Villalobos... 

He was free, but there was no home to return to. No friends to turn to. He was on his own. 

He picked what little supplies he managed to get and fled. An outlaw. 

The journey out of Jamrock was filled with hardships, but he managed to sneak into a cargo container and hide on a ship to escape. He tried to remain undetected by the ship's crew, and when the ship finally reached its destination, he hopped out and saw the first glance of his new "home". He looked at the container he was locked in that read "Martinaise"

His face was immediately struck with the freezing cold wind, slapping him hard. He could see the ghost of his breath evaporate into the air. 

Well, now he was a stranger in a place he didn't know and he was freezing to death, it couldn't get any worse than that. 

For a few days he found shelter in an old abandoned building. But it was nearly impossible to find sleep at night. He was still plagued with dark and horrid memories of a place he was now distant from, and the cold didn't help, not to mention he was starving.

He thought to himself, well, maybe this is how it'll end for him. He wondered if dying of hypothermia was less painful than the electric chair. 

"Shit man, you alright?" a voice told him. ¡Dios mio, his mind was gone! He was hearing voices in his head. And then he felt it, a comforting warmth. The smell of hard work, of blood and tears. He hugged it close...

Wait...

Hugged it??? 

He felt the fabric of the jacket and immediately jumped up with a knife in hand, pointing at whoever it was that was there. Instantly, he was met with a small blade attached to what looked like a combination of brass knuckles and a gun.

"Put that fuckin' knife down, asshole!" Another stranger said. His voice was hoarse and deep. Alain looked at him and saw a masculine blonde man, broad shouldered, much taller than Alain himself. Next to him was an equally tall and broad man, with tired looking eyes. He didn't seem as threatening as the other.

"Knock it off, Glen."

"But Titus, he---"

"This is clearly a misunderstandin', right fella?"

Alain did not lower his weapon.

"Glen."

"T, you don't know if---"

"I'm not gonna say it again. Tuck that thing away."

The blonde sighed and took off his Knuckle Duster. "Fuck me for tryin' to protect you, pal."

The other ignored him, "I'm Titus Hardie, this here is my friend Glen," He pointed at himself then at his friend. "People been sayin' they've been hearin' shit from this buildin'. They thought it was a curse or a ghost. We just came by to investigate. Clearly you are not a ghost. What are you doin' here?"

Nothing. 

"Well you look cold so you can keep the jacket. You shouldn't stay out here long though, this place ain't gonna help you when the storms kick in."

Titus turned around to walk away, Glen didn't. He took a few steps backwards, keeping his eyes on Alain, and then turned away when they were at a safe distance. 

Alain slept a little easier that day with the jacket on.

The next day he woke to the sound of crinkling bags. He pushed himself back and grabbed his knife, the man, whoever it was, did not seem phased by the blade. He simply put the bags he was carrying down. "Food, from the Union and the Hardie boys." He said. 

"Food?"

"Yeah, man," The man that stood in front of him was dark skinned with green eyes, afro hair, his features were soft, being more prevalent by the bright snowy background behind him. This was by far the kindest face Alain had seen in a long time. He wore a plectrum around his neck, most likely for the guitar on his back. He knelt down to be on the same eye level as Alain. "You look like you haven't had anything to eat in days."

"What do you want? Are you cops?!"

He laughed. "Cops? Fuck no. My name is Eugene Antra. I came from outside of Martinaise. I was in your shoes too, sat in the cold, wondering 'what the fuck am I doing?' Then Titus came along and annoyed the living shit out of me for days," despite his tone, he was actually smiling. "The Hardie boys, they look after people. People like you and me." 

"So what are you if not cops?"

Eugene shrugged. "I'm not sure really. Vigilantes? Just concerned citizens?" 

"Why?"

"Don't think I'm the right person to ask this question, man. I'm just here 'cause I owe Hardie that much. I just know he really cares about the folks of this district, whether they're from here or not. He said you're out here freezing your ass off, so we did what the Hardie boys do. We look out for the people."

A pause.

Alain had a hard time lowering his knife. 

"I should let you know I have a gun," Eugene said nonchalantly. "If I was here to hurt you, I would have dont that by now. But that's not what we do," He reached slowly into his jacket and pulled out his gun then put it down. "People who come to Martinaise are often people who have no where else to go. You're down on your luck and you're scared. I get that, man. But you're gonna have to trust me."

The ex-con didn't want to. But his stomach disagreed. He reached for the bag and dragged it closer to him. Once he saw the food inside, he lowered his knife. 

"Listen, there's a hostel you can stay in. We usually go there at night to have some drinks."

He took a paper from inside his guitar case and scribbled down a badly drawn map then left the paper under a few small pebbles to keep it from getting carried with the wind. "You can find us there." He stood up, waited for a bit to see if he would get a response, and when he didn't, he left.

Alain wouldn't say he's paranoid, he's more of an 'extremely cautious' guy. Can you blame him? The way he had to live, it was hard to trust anyone. There was weighing doubt in his head that the food might be poisoned. But fuck it, if he were to die then fuck it. It was better than starving. 

He looked at the map as he ate, and decided to find this hostel. "The Whirling-In-Rags." Maybe it was the welcoming warmth from the stranger's jacket that kept him from freezing, and maybe it was the fact that he hasn't died from any of the food.... yet, or even the kindness in the man's voice as he spoke to him just now, he wasn't sure, but he was curious to see these "not cops". 

When he finally felt the energy surge back in his body, he tucked the stranger's jacket on and left to find the hostel.

Bright red neon lights told him he was in the right place. He went inside and waited. A woman approached him. "Hello, welcome to the Whirling-In-Rags. Can I help you, sir?" 

"Just waiting."

"Can I get you something while you wait?"

He shook his head. The woman nodded and went back behind the counter. 

When light eventually became dark, the hostel doors opened and 6 very loud men came in, laughing about things unknown to Alain. Actually three of them seemed uninterested, the other three looked like they were having the time of their lives but all that came to a sudden halt when they saw Alain. 

The dark skinned man from earlier smiled at him, he looked genuinely happy to see him. 

"Hey! Glad you decided to show up." Titus Hardie said then gestured for him to come over. 

Alain approached with caution. 

"These are the Hardie boys," Eugene introduced them. "You met Titus and Glen. This is Shanky," he pointed at a small rat like man. "Angus," a big guy, sweaty, he looked nervous. "And Theo." Old guy, grey hair, and a very mean look.

A pause. Alain switched the weight of his body from one leg to the other, fidgeting. "Alain."

"Alain?" Titus leaned forward, casting his shadow over Alain.

"Alain Delmoore." 

Titus blinked. "You're Saramirizian? Mesque? From Jamrock? Or?"

"Villalobos."

The big guy nodded. "Well, come on then. You're in the company of Hardie boys today."

They sat and they drank, and it reminded Alain so much of sitting with his gang. It was almost painful. They were happy, these simple folks. Despite the stories they told about dying children and women, and struggling men, they were happy. 

"So what do you amigos do, exactly?"

"Well," Titus began before taking a sip of his beer. "We're just dockworkers who got tired of shit around here."

Eugene moved his bottle of warm milk in circular motions, as if trying to melt something at the bottom of it. "You probably noticed, there aren't any cops around here."

"So you play cops?"

The group laughed.

"No. We don't play cops. You see, we've put this outfit together some years ago. Never seen a single cop all this time. We just look out for the people. We try to keep the district clean, make it harder for kids to gun each other down---"

"And beat the shit out of assholes!" The blonde chimed in.

"Yeah, that too. So as you can see, we're the law around here."

"People just let you?"

"You see anyone else keepin' 'em safe?"

He shrugged. 

"What about you Alain? What's your story?" Eugene asked, playing a few notes on his guitar but stopping to look at Alain.

The Saramirizian said nothing. 

There was a silent understanding among the group. They all had a hard time opening up on their first meeting. They didn't pressure Alain. He appreciated that. 

They gave him all the time he needed.

He met back with them for days, Weeks, months. And bit by bit, it was getting easier to find his home among them.

He was given a job in the union with them, and remembered nights where Eugene would sit on top of a shipping container, playing his songs while the men sang on top of their lungs. They felt like Familia.

He actually spent most his time with Eugene, something about his calmness eased his trauma. His music was very comforting as well. It reminded him of home. Alain didn't know how to play the guitar but knew a few songs he could share with the Aeropagit. 

He also enjoyed the company of Titus himself. The man tried to be understanding of Alain's struggles as best as he could and offered him a safe space to heal. 

Seeing Titus at work, it gave him purpose. The man had given him a new life. He has accepted Alain as a citizen of Martinaise, and more so than that, a member of his crew. 

So finally, he opened up to them, and told them who he was. A criminal on the run, living most of his life in and out of prison. 

He felt the trauma creeping in, making it hard for him to speak. Eugene placed a hand on his shoulder then played a song, it helped Alain feel at ease. Eugene seemed proud of that.

"It don't matter who you were. Matters who you are now," Titus told him. "Besides it wasn't hard to tell. You're covered in tattoos, bud."

Alain chuckled. "Guess so."

"Well Alain, who are you now?"

He thought about it and then raised his beer bottle. "I'm a Hardie boy!" 

The rest of the men put their glasses up. "Damn right!"

They chanted and drank. Alain promised to give Titus and his Hardie boys his all till death. He would be honored to fight with them and die with them. All his regrets were now but a distant memory, carried by the oceans of Martinaise into the void of the pale.


	7. Chapter 6: Glen Dixon

His eyes saw God above him as he laid on the floor, beyond the cracking moldy ceiling. Even after it became hard to see, he still saw him.

God did nothing. He did nothing to stop the fury of punches and kicks. The fucker simply watched as the figure on top of the blonde boy made his face unrecognizable with purple and red. The young boy couldn't breathe through his busted nose, it hurt to breathe anyway. The bones that hugged his body felt like they were shattered into tiny little pieces. 

Every time he tried to get a breath in through his mouth, there was a wheezing noise, followed by sharp pain.

He remembered being ten, being in this same position, with the same monster. He remembered crying and pleading after every punch.

"Please! I'm sorry! I'm sorry!" He didn't even know what he was apologizing for. "I'll be a good, I promise!" Why else would his daddy do this? Right? He had to have done something wrong. But it only made his daddy angrier.

"Men don't cry, boy! Only sissies and faggots cry."

He remembered his long blonde hair being pulled and yanked, he remembered his father chopping it all off. Men don't have long hair. Women have long hair.

Now he doesn't cry. He just takes it like a man. He doesn't even groan or plead. He just takes it. 

And once his father was finally bored, he let him go. 

"Now get the fuck up, Glen, and clean this shit up!" And the boots stomped away, leaving Glen to the fucked up sound of him trying to desperately get air into his lungs.

He tried so hard to get up but every bone in his body fought against him. Blood dripped down his nose in rivers and flowed down his cheek and onto the wooden floor, his lips were swollen, bruised, and bleeding as well. His face was full of cuts, he barely saw anything from how badly beat his eyes were, he closed them and just then, he felt just how tired he really was. He felt the pain of breathing, of trying to move. 

He was going to die. 

He was going to choke on his own blood and die on this old rotten floor. 

Tears threatened to escape him but he held them back. 

Men don't cry

Men don't cry

Men don't cry

Men don't cry

Men don't cry

Men don't cry

Men don't cry 

Men don't cry

He was in so much pain and yet he forced himself to roll over and push himself to his hands and knees. Blood dripped from his face onto the floor, and he coughed up a loose tooth. His arms begged him to stop moving, his head was spinning, and pounding like a son of a gun. His legs felt shaky as he tried to stand, the weight of him became a heavy task for them to carry. He only managed a few steps before collapsing. 

He must have blacked out after that because the next thing he knew, he was being lifted off of the roach infested floors, and he could faintly hear a sound emerging from the darkness. It sounded so far away. It sounded like heaven. "Fuck. Glenny, stay with me." 

When he opened his eyes next, he was on a dusty old bed. His body covered in bandages and band-aids. Next to him, on a very uncomfortable looking chair, sat his best friend, sleeping peacefully with his arms crossed over his chest. He looked around, and in the dark saw a few outline of medical equipment. He guessed his friend rushed him to the small medical house in Martinaise. It wasn't a hospital, not even a clinic. But it was where the people went for medical care when they couldn't make it out of Martinaise. 

His gaze fell on his friend once again, sitting beside him, snoring peacefully. Unbothered by the way he was forced to sleep in a small ugly chair. He was definetly going to feel the back pain tomorrow. 

When they met, around six years ago, their friendship was extremely rocky. Glen had ran away from home to avoid his drunken enraged father, he ran until he reached a small clearing with a lake and a boat tied to a wooden pole. 

He sat by the water, and then this kid came along, thirteen of age, disturbing Glen's peace and need for solitude. 

"Hi," he began, sitting next to the blonde. He had hazel eyes, small and hooded, short dark hair, a square shaped face, and a very charming smile. Glen looked away and didn't respond. "I'm Titus Hardie. What's your name?"

No response.

The boy tilted his head in confusion. He studied the younger one for a moment and noticed the bruises under his torn shirt. His smile faded and turned into a frown, but that quickly disappeared and his cheerful tone spoke again:

"Do you like boats? That's my dad's boat. He likes to go fishin'. Sometimes I go with him."

No response.

A pause, then, "I like your hair."

Glen's head shot up and he turned to look at the other boy. "Don't make fun of me!"

The boy tilted his head again. "I ain't makin' fun of you. Why would you think that?"

The long haired blonde looked away and fell silent once more.

It was quiet for a while, both kids staring at the water rippling, and the boat gently swaying. The short yellowing grass danced with the wind, and its gentle mistress played with the young boy's golden locks.

Then, "those are quite the number of band-aids you got."

Glen pulled his legs close to his chest and hid his face in them, leaving only his eyes to stare at the lake. The silence stretched out again, making Glen feel uneasy. He tried to ignore it at first. The other boy wasn't even looking at him, he was now busy tossing pebbles into the lake, and yet, there was something about the other boy that made his chest tighten. 

The boy turned to him and offered him a pebble, he looked at it then at Titus, smiling warmly at him. His face felt hot, he wanted to run away... so he did. He ran and left the boy behind, alone and confused. 

When he came home, and snuck into his room, he thought of the boy and it did not feel good. It hurt. But he could not stop thinking about him. 

The next day he returned to the lake at the same time, wondering if he would see Titus Hardie again, and there he was, facing the lake. The ends of his pants cuffed up above his ankles, and his feet in the water. The blonde hid behind a tree and watched him look around every now and then, as if waiting for someone. He waited, and waited. And when he was tired of waiting, he grabbed his socks and shoes and put them on, then picked up his bag and walked away from the lake. Glen came out of his hiding. He met Hardie half way.

"I was hopin' I'd see you again."

Glen wasn't sure what to say so he said nothing.

"I hope I didn't scare you."

The blonde huffed, puffing his chest. "You didn't scare me. I ain't no pussy."

Titus chuckled, not at the boy's attempt to look tough, but at the fact that he was missing a front tooth, so it sounded like he had a lisp. Glen narrowed his eyes threateningly at him, Hardie was not phased.

He reached inside his bag and pulled out a white rugby ball, decorated with green and yellow lines. "Do you want to toss the ball around a bit?"

Glen thought for a moment but then nodded. 

They stood across from one another, throwing the spherical ball back and forth. 

"You got a strong throw." 

Glen's only response was throwing the ball harder. 

They didn't stop for a long while, most the time was spent throwing the ball in silence, and if one of them spoke it was Titus.

It was that way for a while, but despite that they met every day at the same spot at the same time. Titus never seemed bothered or bored by Glen's behavior, and Glen wouldn't admit it, but he was really warming up to the older kid, even enough to say that he enjoyed his company. It became the part of the day he looked forward to the most. 

When they got tired, they sat by the lake, kicking water with their feet, or drawing random patterns into the water. 

"Glen," the blonde said out of the blue. "Glen Dixon."

Titus nodded. "Well it's mighty nice to meet you, Glen."

And that was that. Their worlds became one.

Sometimes Glen regretted coming back to the lake, dragging Titus into his shitty life. He wouldn’t be sitting here right now if Glen never came back. He wouldn’t have to deal with Glen’s personal shit. And him? He would have been dead on that floor long ago.

He reached out, gently putting his hand over the other man’s just to make sure he was real. That he hadn’t died and this was just purgatory. His skin was warm and comforting to the touch. Everything about his friend was far too good compared to him. Even as he felt the little scars on his fingers and the back of his hand, he felt the stories of each one, of their glory. Glen’s scars were just memories of the many times he didn’t fight back.

He respected Titus, and more than respected him, he loved him. He was never taught how to feel, it was actually the opposite. He was told that having emotions made him weak, that it made him less of a man. He should never let himself be vulnerable. And yet, Titus made him feel some type of way. No matter how hard Glen pushed him away, he stayed. No matter what shit he pulled, Titus never left his side. Glen wished he knew why. 

Suddenly palm met palm, their fingers intertwined. 

“Glenny?”

The blonde blinked out of his thoughts and pulled his hand back as if Titus’s skin had turned into fire, the sudden movement made his muscles ache and he had to swallow a groan of pain.

“That fucker,” Titus hissed. “When I get my hands on him, it’s done. That fucker is done!” His harsh expression softened and he leaned closer to the bed, placing a caring hand on top of the head of golden locks. “You gotta fight back, Glen. He’s gonna kill you.”

The blonde wanted to laugh but knew it would hurt to do so. “He’s gonna kill me either way.”

He wanted to fight back, he wanted to smash his father’s head against the floor until his brain spilled out. How he wished he could turn the tables and give his old man a taste of this shit he puts him through. He often daydreamed of gutting his father, of making him into something unrecognizable, of ripping his body apart with bullets. Thoughts he would never express out loud, but the violence brought him comfort. 

“I got somethin' for you,” Titus pulled his bag up to his leg and fished around in it before pulling a gun. “Got it from my old man.” He put the weapon in Glen’s hand and closed his fingers around it. The weight of it felt beautiful. 

“Titus…”

“It’s just to protect yourself."

He inspected the gun, tracing the outline of it with his finger. It felt good. 

"Glen..."

He lifted his head.

"Remember, this is only for protection. Don't make me regret it."

The blonde nodded. "Thanks, T."

He grinned. "Someone has to look after your dumb ass." 

When Glen returned home, he found it harder than expected to not go straight to his father's room and shoot him in the head. He looked at the floor where his blood had dried up, and saw himself from a few days earlier, struggling to breathe, wondering if this is it, if this is finally the beating that kills him. His bones are still healing, and eventually his body will mend itself. But the non-physical damage? Glen will never heal. 

* * *

He woke up in a cold sweat, body shooting up, causing him discomfort. The darkness around him felt unwelcoming. If it had been a nightmare, he would have reached for his gun and had no reason to be afraid. But this was far worse than a nightmare. It was a reality that Glen had tried to escape. 

He locked his thoughts in his head and wrote them off as something else. He wished it were something else. Anything but this...

In the dark, his fears manifested. He saw himself at the gym, eyeing men for too long, looking at their bodies, drawing their outlines with his gaze. He craved them. At first he told himself he was simply admiring. But with time his desires got stronger. 

So he told himself he was simply just horny. But that wasn't the case. He could never sleep with a woman. He tried. He tried so many times. He did not feel love for them, nor desire. No interest, nor craving. 

Something was wrong with him. Really really wrong. He was fucked in the head, that was no secret. But this? 

It only got worse with time. His thoughts became too loud, he could no longer bury them or ignore them. His body reacted to them. 

He felt immense shame. He finally understood why his old man beat the fuck out of him. He deserved it. If he could, he would beat it out of himself too.

And just when he thought he had hit rock bottom, somehow he sank even further, there was no bottom, just an endless abyss, just the devil's hands pulling him, touching him, lying to him, convincing him it should feel good.

It tainted every interaction he had with his best friend. Every hug hello and goodbye and 'I hope you're alright's. Every touch like the fires of hell on his skin. 

They argued. He had to push him away before he did something unforgivable. He had to.

They fought till their skin was purple and blue. The sad part was... he somewhat felt pleasure from it, from drawing blood, from hearing bones crack, from having a titan such as Titus Hardie lose his sense of control. Glen was still a lion, and Titus was bound to lose control on him. No matter what, he was still a wild predator. 

He thought, perhaps this is the sort of sick twisted satisfaction his father felt when he broke his bones. It was exhilarating... and terrifying.

Just another layer of fucked up to add on top of all the previous ones. 

And yet, somehow, for some reason... Titus never left. Never once. 

Titus Hardie was well loved, if he wanted to, he could have had a friend better than Glen in an instant. Yet...

"You're my best friend, Glenny."

"Are you fuckin' dumb, Hardie?" He didn't want to sound this mad, he was angry at himself, not Titus. "What kind of fucked up dickhead wants to be dragged around in someone else's shit?" 

"Guess I'm a fucked up dickhead then."

"For fucks sake!"

"I gave you the gun. Why didn't you use it? I know you know how to."

"Don't you fuckin' get it? I fuckin' deserve this."

The big guy took a step closer to his friend, the genuine concern and sadness behind his narrow eyes became more apparent. "Why would you think that?"

"None of your god damn fuckin' business!!" The blonde stomped his boot and showed as much teeth as he could with every word, reminding Hardie that he was still a wild beast. 

"Shit man, I know you got a few loose screws but to think you deserve this? No one fuckin' deserves this, Glen."

"You don't understand! I'm just as sick as him... I got his shit blood in me."

Firm hands grabbed him and shook him. "Don't you ever fuckin' say that again! You hear me?! You are not like him." 

Yeah, he was worse. If only he knew...

But Glen found that it didn't matter when Titus wrapped his arms around him. "You're nothin' like him. You're dumb as shit but you're kind. You look after Auntie LePlante sometimes, you helped some kids get their cat from a tree. You do all this shit he would never do. You never hurt anyone who didn't deserve it. You put yourself in danger just to keep some kids from killin' each other. You didn't have to but you did. And you're loyal to a fault, Glen. If there ever was a war, I know you'll be right here with me, and I'll be there for you. You're the best damn friend I've ever had." 

The blonde buried his face in his friend's shoulder, his claws dug into the man's back, desperately gripping. His heart hammered in his chest. He never knew how bitter and kind love was until then. She was a cruel mistress, tugging at his heart strings and whispering melancholic thoughts into his mind. Thoughts of her. Of love. Sweet and gentle, yet painful. It was bittersweet when she kissed him and told him he has found the one, so he should let himself fall. 

They found themselves at the lake a month later. They haven't been there in a while. Titus's old boat was still there. Sometimes he and Glen took it and left the lands of Martinaise. It was their escape. 

They sat by the water as they had done when they were kids. Glen doesn't know how they made it this far but he was glad. He rested his head on Titus's shoulder and sighed in content when the older man tilted his, putting it on top of the bed of golden hair. 

It was peaceful. Just the sound of them breathing and the cold wind playing with the water. Glen pulled his legs close to his chest and watched the horizon. They didn't need to talk, they simply enjoyed one another's company.

They saw their memories in the rippling reflection in front of them. All the shit they've been through just to make it by. 

Glen hoped he could be with Titus for the rest of their lives. He would follow him anywhere, fight all his enemies, and by Dolores Dei, he would even kill for him. The feelings inside him were so strong that they overtook all his senses, all his nerves, all his thoughts, his dreams. When they lifted their heads to look at each other, it was like something overtook him. There was a surge of electricity ripping through him. His blue ocean eyes found home in the other man's land. His smile mended the raging waves, and there was nothing Glen could do then but let his body control him. 

He leaned forward and pressed his lips to Titus's own. Soft, gentle love. His lips were the gates to heaven and they did not open for him, and yet he didn't want to leave.

He brought his hands up to the sides of the sharp squared face, fingers feeling the stubble under like thorns against his skin. He tilted his head, feeling almost desperate. He knew once he pulled away, he'll never be allowed back here. He'll never smell heaven again. 

His body ached, like his blood was that of hell's fire. It hurt to carry so much love in him for someone far greater than himself. It burned his eyes and made them tear up, but he held back the streams of lava. 

Just a little longer. He wanted this just a little longer, but the fire filled his lungs. He needed to breathe. And he fell from the clouds back onto earth... miserable, miserable earth. 

When he pulled away he was too ashamed to look at the other man. Too afraid to see the disgust on his face. 

He turned his head and for a moment thought of fleeing. He grabbed his bag and stood up, but the firm grip on his wrist kept him from going anywhere.

"Let go of me!" His voice failed him. It cracked and showed weakness. 

"You wanna be a man, Glen? Then you fuckin' face your feelin's like a man."

"Shut up!"

Titus pulled him down and forced the blonde to look at him. "The magazines in your room, the way you look at the guys in the locker room," Glen struggled in his grip but Titus ignored him and went on, "you've never had a girlfriend. You've never liked a girl. Never really liked one. You---"

Another kiss, this time with a fist. Titus recovered almost instantly and grabbed both Glen's wrists in his hands. "Leave me the fuck alone!” The blonde roared.

He struggled in the other's firm grip and attempted to slam his head against Titus's but the big man dodged.

Then suddenly, he was kissing him, and Glen's body froze. Hell has frozen over. Sweet, sweet euphoria, kind and loving. Soft clouds of lips, moving gently against his. His muscles relaxed, his anger left him, and only one thought occupied his mind. Titus.

Their lips moved together, Titus let go of Glen's hands and let the other man wrap his arms around him. Even when they were pushing against one another, each of them trying to be the dominant one in this dance, there was still a softness to their aggression. There was love... and it felt so fucking wrong. Even now when he was tugging at his friend's lower lip, even when they tasted each other when their tongues met. It felt so fucking wrong. But, fuck, he wanted it... He needed it. 

What the fuck was he doing? This was just another fucking shithole he pulled Titus into. He couldn't let that happen. He loved him too much to let him fuck himself up that way, so he did the hardest thing he's ever had to do in his life, and he pulled away.

"We can't do this..."

Titus rolled his eyes. "Ain't nothin' wrong with bein'--"

"Shut up. Don't fuckin' say it. You're not. I'm not."

He knew Titus wasn't. He slept with women. He had girlfriends. 

Titus's expression shifted. It became angry. "Well unlike you, Glen, I'm comfortable with who I am. If I wanna get with women, I'll get with women. If I wanna get with men, then I'll fuckin' get with men.”

“You’ve never been with a man!”

“As far as you know!”

“Why are you doin’ this?! Why are you talkin’ to me like I’m a fuckin’ dumbass? I would know if—“

“Well I didn’t tell you ‘cause you’re a fuckin’ cunt about it.”

Glen was hurt by that, genuinely hurt. “But you—“

Titus stabbed him with his index finger, straight to his heart. "You don’t get to tell me who I fuckin’ am, alright?! You don’t get to tell me where I put my dick and who I wanna put it in. You understand? I do whatever the fuck I want!"

The blonde fell silent.

Titus sighed and rubbed the side of his head. “I like you, Glen. I really do. But you’re too much of a damn pussy to get your shit together.”

Glen had so little to lose… but he had Titus to lose. And he would never forgive himself if something happened to him because of his bullshit. If his father knew he would kill them both. He couldn’t risk it.

"You want us to be together? You come talk to me when you grow a pair of balls and stop letting your old man shit all over you! But you should know, I ain't gonna sit around and wait for you forever."

He didn't say anything else. For the first time, they sat in silence, and the silence was uncomfortable. 

That day he went home and didn’t sleep at all. 

A week later, he shot his father multiple times, until he was out of ammo, and then tore him a part with the broken shards of the beer bottles that were littering the house. No one bothered to ask him if he was okay when he left the house with his bloodied clothes. He went to the closest payphone and made a call. His fingers twitched around the phone handle, his weight felt too heavy for his body, but somehow he kept himself together.

He dragged himself home and let himself collapse. His whole body shut down, all the adrenaline from his fight depleted. He bled on the floor, a familiar smell of rotten wood and metallic blood. He wasn’t going to die this time. Actually, despite the numbness of his body, he felt alive.

The door slammed open and he was picked off the floor. “Are you hurt? Glen?” A few gentle slaps on his cheek were enough to get him to open his eyes.

“I’m fine. Nothin’ serious. Just… tired.”

Titus lifted his head and looked at the crime scene. Blood everywhere. Even when Glen’s father was long dead, the blonde did not stop abusing his corpse.

“I’ll get rid of the body. We can clean up later. You have to get out of these clothes.”

Glen looked up at his friend. The best thing that’s ever happened to him. He wanted to fall asleep, right then and there. The worst was over. He just had to recover from the shock of his first kill.

The years that followed were some of the rockiest. He thought being free of his father would mean he could now heal… but he didn’t. It didn’t help that the state of Martinaise was in rapid decline. More gangs, more deaths. No law, no cops. 

They heard of a man that was running his own law group, Titus wanted in, Glen followed. He told Glen that this was a great chance to put his aggression to good use. Frankly, Glen would do it just because that meant he could beat the shit out of people.

“Titus Hardie,” He shook the man’s hand. “This is my friend, Glen.”

The old grey haired man looked at him, most likely expecting a formal introduction, but Glen had long distanced himself from his last name. “Just Glen.”

“Theodore Malli.” 

A small group of vigilantes, seeking justice for the unheard cries of citizens dying, dead. Over the years the district has grown to see his best friend as a leader, so has the group, and he was named the head of the crew, cleverly, not-so-cleverly nameing it “The Hardie Boys” but Glen wouldn’t have it any other way. There was no other man he would rather lead them into battle.

And then finally, after all those years of denial and self loathing, of one night stands with men he’d never grow to love... Finally, Glen was ready. He had made friends with a lorry driver named Ruby, a lesbian with confidence Glen wished he had. She was open about who she was and simply did not give a single flying fuck. She figured out his feelings for his best friend and told him that if he loved him once, there was still a chance. He just had to grab life by the balls and do it! Especially because Titus was sleeping with a woman that Ruby liked so really it was more like “get your man off my woman."

Some Oranje disco dancer who stayed at the Whirling. She was bad news, or maybe Glen was just jealous. He had let Titus slip away many times before, he thought this dumb crush was just puppy love but it wasn't. It grew with him. And it fucking hurt seeing him with someone else, not a fling, not a one night stand but someone Titus was genuinely catching feelings for.

They were at the docks that night. Drinking beer on their own, sharing a cigarette. Enjoying the silence… The wind ran its fingers through his blonde hair and threatened to extinguish the fires of his cigarette. He tapped on it a few times, letting the ash fall before handing it to Titus.

"I still love you, T."

The older man chugged down his beer and then followed it with a smoke. "So now you love me? Don't recall you usin' that word back then."

"But I did love you. I was just..." He didn't want to say scared. Being scared is for pussies. So he shrugged instead. 

Titus didn't say anything, he just took another drag of his cigarette.

“I know you like that woman, that Oranje chick. But I just thought I’d let you know.”

Nothing. Titus was too busy staring at nothing in particular.

"Is it too late?" 

"Don't know,” He exhaled the smoke then handed the cigarette back to Glen. "Gimme ten years to think about it."

He sighed. "Okay. I get it, I fucked up. I fucked up real bad. But it's hard for me, T." Feelings were never his best forte.

Titus looked at him and gave him a soft smile. “I know.”

“Feelin’s fucked. Don’t know how to work through ‘em.” He took a sip of his drink, hoping it would help him form some sensible words. “I just know bein’ angry and kickin’ ass.”

Titus chuckled. “And you do ‘em pretty well.”

Glen smiled and downed the rest of his beer. The second he lowered his bottle, Titus’s lips were on his. They both tasted of liquor and smoke, but it was still like when they were younger, hungry, desperate, and most of all, in love. Glen blindly put out the cigarette on top of the container so his hands were free to cup the sides of Titus’s face, bringing him closer. He tasted the years of hardship in every corner of his friend’s mouth, somewhere beyond the strong flavor of booze. All their memories, their ups and down. Everything that happened to bring them to this moment.

Both of them chuckled when they parted. “Fuckin’ gay, man.” Titus said jokingly.

“Yeah? What if?”

The big guy hooked one arm around the blonde, and Glen leaned against him. The rest of the night was spent chit chatting about whatever. They saw themselves being together for the rest of their lives, and it would be business as usual (The perks of having your best friend as your lover). Martinaise never looked so beautiful.


	8. Chapter 7: Titus Hardie

“Steady.”

The young boy closed one eye and centered all his focus on his target. A small deer in the open wild, blissfully unaware of its demise. The wind was bound to mess with his hit, and he thought of the recoil once he fired his shot. He could alkost feel the pain in his shoulder. 

“Take a deep breath, and then hold.”

He filled his lungs with the cold air of Martinaise, and held it there. He could hear his own heart beat in his ears, hammering.

And then...

The birds cawed as the sound of the shot echoed through the open field. The deer fell dead. 

A younger blonde boy came to stand next to him, binoculars in hand, he inspected the kill. “Nice.” He said before handing the binoculars to his friend.

And older man with one glassy eye leaned over them and watched the distant sight, a grin stretched on his face. “Atta boy, son. You’re getting better.”

Last time, the animal suffered. It was one of the worst feelings he’s experienced, watching the poor thing bleed out and spaz and twitch on the floor before finally succumbing to its death.

They carried their game home and celebrated with beer. “Alright Titus, Glen, go get freshened up."

The two raced to the bathroom, Titus beating his friend by a single step. They argued behind the door about hot water but eventually Glen waited it out in his friend's room.

The medium sized room was full of posters of sports men from various games; Boxing, football, but mostly Rugby. Both of them wanted to play Rugby. It was their dream. They built on it together. 

On the desk lay a few photos of Titus and his family. Mr. And Mrs. Hardie, his little brother Tiberius, and himself. Glen was in some of those photos. They always welcomed him as part of the family.

Next to his bed was a night stand that also had a photo of the two of them. Glen looked so stupid. His face was full of band-aids, and his front teeth were broken. But they looked so happy. 

He moved to the small wooden wardrobe, full of freshly washed clothes and pulled something for himself to wear. He and Titus were both too big for their age, broad shouldered and thick muscled. But they could always wear each other's clothes. 

The bright orange shirt that he pulled said "Hardie" on the back of it, along with the number "10" Glen had an identical one at home but his had the number "03" (it also said Hardie, and he was quite fond of that)

He also took a pair of shorts with the same orange color, and dark red stripes on the sides. He set them aside and looked for a towel. While rummaging around, he found little trinkets stashed here and there; a bullet, one he and Titus found lodged into a tree after a gang war. Crumbled up notes that the two of them used to exchange under the table at dinner. Boxing gloves, from his prizefighter days. A lot of memories in such small items. All their years and years together, and yet he could still see them on that lake where they met, and the memories that they couldn't hold in items, they wore on their bodies. 

Hardie's body was full of scars, small and big. Stab wounds, bullet holes. Fights with Glen's father. More scars from boxing. The two of them didn't go out of their way to find trouble, but trouble sure found them, or rather, it found someone else and they liked go get involved, like the time an old lady was stuck in the middle of a crossfire. They knew they had to do something, So they intervened. Almost got ripped to shreds that day.

Or when they came across a bunch of drunks harassing a lonesome woman, minding her own business.

Titus Hardie had a big heart, and a bigger sense of justice. That's something Glen always admired about him. Glen's aggression would have surely led him down a darker path had it not been for his best friend. 

"Shower's all yours" 

Glen turned to look at him and there were a few awkward moments of the blonde staring at the half naked Hardie but then he picked up his clothes and simply passed by his friend. 

Titus didn't find it hard to know his best friend was a part of the "homosexual underground", perhaps he hasn't come to that conclusion himself yet, but knowing Glen, he was most likely in denial. Titus didn't mind, of course. His mother is a lover and taught him to keep an open mind. It was none of his fucking business where other people liked to stick their privates. It certainly didn't make him think any less of Glen. 

He'd be lying if he said he wasn't exploring the possibilities himself. He knew for a fact he was attracted to women. But there were a few one night stands with men too. He believed the term was "bisexual middle ground" or "bi-curious"

But that wasn't important, he was freezing. Best put some clothes on. 

They went back to the lake where they first met some days later, and took the boat out. Titus had just joined the rowing club. The man was born with half his soul in a pearl under the sea. He loved the open water. Sometimes he went fishing with his dad. They would sit for hours, waiting for a catch. There was no greater feeling than seeing that tug on the line and then fighting with the fish, and once you reel that bad boy in? Hot damn. 

As they got further and further from land, the two boys heard a monstrous howl from the distance, somewhere beyond their view. They weren’t sure if it came from the water or some other place.

"Creepy," Titus stopped rowing for a moment to look behind them then shrugged, brushing off the sound as the wind. "Think there are monsters down there, Glenny?"

The blonde's brows knotted, his expression was harsh. "Don't be fuckin' dumb, T. Ain't nothin' down there but fish and bigger fish." 

He chuckled. "No cryptids?"

He tilted his head, the genuine confusion on his face tugged at Titus’s heartstrings. "The fuck is that?"

"Animal like creatures, bud. Like the Mothman, and Bigfoot."

"Tch, these are dumb folk tales your mama tells you to scare you." 

"Heard some fellow saw this weird spider legged thing once. Said it wasn't like nothin' he'd ever seen before." 

"That's just crazy talk, man. Some fuckin' bullshit."

Titus shrugged. "I guess so.” Then he had a wicked idea. “So you wouldn’t be scared if—” He rocked the boat. Glen held on like a cat afraid of water.

“Knock it off, you cunt!”

“I thought you knew how to swim.”

“I do! But I don’t wanna get fuckin’ wet in this damn cold.”

Titus laughed. “Sure.” And he went back to rowing.

They stopped when they were far enough from land but could still see Martinaise, and then they simply sat, drank beer, and talked. 

Titus could talk to Glen forever. The two never seemed to run out of topics. Even when they preferred the silence, they still sat in complete peace together, just enjoying each other's company. There's a lot Titus liked about his best friend. His loyalty for starters. It was hard to find good people in Martinaise, but he knew he could give his soul to Glen and the man will protect it with his life. And more so than that, he saw a will in his friend, to be something better than the monster at home he calls his father. 

Titus had no doubt that years of abuse have fucked Glen up, and have made him somewhat unhinged and crazy. He felt it sometimes, when he got into physical confrontations with his best friend, the violence in his punches were full of anger and pain. He sympathized. But despite that, Glen had a softer side to him, one he would never admit to having out loud. He wanted to be a good person, if not a good person, then at least a decent human being. He wasn’t the best with people, but he did small acts of kindness that Titus highly encouraged. It wasn’t easy for him, but Glen did it. That’s why he knew he would never be anything like his old man.

He's barely ever seen Glen's face fully. Most of it was always covered up by band-aids and bandages. He was used to this by now, seeing the red spill from his friend’s nose, his black eyes, and his busted lips. If it were up to him, he would have taken his father's shotgun and ripped Glen's father a brand new hole. He wouldn’t even hesitate. He couldn’t even begin to imagine how dark Glen’s thoughts were if he was thinking about grotesque ways to kill a father that wasn’t his own. All things considered, he was glad he could have this moment with his best friend, and that he was still here. 

The two stared at their reflection in the water, and saw themselves, young, no scars on their bodies. He remembered sitting with Glen for hours, talking to himself mostly. Glen never said anything. He remembered seeing the young boy’s face, beaten and bruised, his teeth missing. Long sleeved shirts that covered horrors, Titus didn’t have to imagine the way his friend’s body looked under it. He could tell just by seeing the state of his face. It wasn’t uncommon in Martinaise, to have abusive parents, Titus felt lucky. His parents may pressure him to be his best sometimes, but they loved him. 

It took a lot to bring Glen's walls down. Titus knew he was just protecting himself, like a turtle that hides in its hard shell. But when he finally came out of that shell? Titus knew he and Glen would be forever. They fought a war among themselves and against each other just to make it this far. They were now unshakeable.

Their relationship eventually evolved into mutual attraction. For Titus, falling in love with someone who was there with him through best and worst, and was ready to die for him, was easier than breathing. But he knew Glen struggled with his feelings. He understood that Glen was never taught how to manage and control his emotions, and finding out he was gay was confusing, and confusion led to anger, and anger led to denial, and denial led to more anger. 

He watched it destroy his best friend and make him something built from self loathing, frustration, bitterness, and hate. There were days where Titus felt Glen’s entire body tense when he hugged him, or the blonde would yank his hands away whenever Titus simply brushed against them. He tried to be there for him, to tell him it was alright. He wanted to give Glen all the time he needed to come to terms with who he was and work that shit out. And he thought it finally happened when the blonde kissed him. He thought that was it. Their feelings for one another would be solidified, but it wasn’t that easy. Glen was still struggling. His father’s claws were so deeply rooted into him that there was no way you could pull them out without ripping the younger man apart.

At that moment, Titus just wanted Glen to grow a pair and man up, really man up. Not the type of manning up his father made him believe was true. He loved Glen too much to let this affect their relationship, regardless, they moved on. Glen would have to figure out his shit on his own. He just hoped he did that before it was too late.

He had given Glen a gun. It was a hard choice, not because he didn't trust Glen, but because he didn't trust his demons. As much as he loved his best friend, the blonde was unpredictable, especially in his enraged state. His demons would become too powerful for him to resist. 

The day Glen had called him and told him that he's done it, Titus knew it wasn't just "I shot my father dead" the scene was straight out of a horror movie. Glen was covered in blood, both his own and his father's. The beer bottles laying around were broken, some lodged into the corpse of the dead man. There were cuts on Glen's hands, probably from where the glass dug into his skin as he forcefully pushed it into the dead body.

He thinks something broke in Glen that day. Something in his head just snapped. When he looked at his ocean blue eyes, they were frozen cold. He was never the same again.

Yet, the two did what they could, and they moved on. They managed to achieve their dreams of being rugby players. They drank so hard that day that they thought they'd fall into a three day coma and wake up with no memory of who they were.

The bar became a frequent place for them, not in an alcoholic who needed to feed his addiction kind of way, but it was an escape from their life. But trouble went where they went. In the past years they've gotten into several bar fights because they took it upon themselves to stop drunken assholes from harassing people and starting shit. A lot of the time that meant getting into knife fights or even gun fights. Titus thought, As long as his body had more place for scars, then that meant it wasn't time to quit. Glen was more than happy to punch the living shit out of people so he went along with it.

It was easy for Glen to follow Titus wherever. His friend just had that aura to him. When raised his glass at the bar and told people to stand up, the whole bar got rallied up. He was fearless, determined, ambitious. Who wouldn't fallow a man that made them feel like everything was going to be alright?

So when they heard that there was a man doing the same exact thing. They knew they had to meet him. 

Theodore Malli. 

The man didn't seem to expect people to rise up to his cause. But Titus and Glen were some of the very first to join, and then some came and left. Titus met a few good men, the ones that stayed, the ones who grew to be undyingly loyal to him;

Eugene, a traveller with no home who joined the cause only out of respect for Titus. He was smart, not in an educated man kind of way, but street smart. Having years of experience of dealing with different types of people and dangerous situations on his travels. 

Alain, once a criminal and gang member. He ran away from Jamrock and was down on his luck. They met on the edge of a knife. Alain needed help but was a stranger and couldn't ask for it. When Titus offered him a job and picked him up off the ground, the man owed him his life and proved himself to Titus and his crew.

Angus, a bright kid with the love for technology. He taught Titus a lot about what he knew about radios, cameras, and computers. The only thing that hindered the poor guy was his anxiety but Titus made sure he felt right at home among them.

Shanky, well... Titus didn't trust Shanky but had to admit he was handy. His small size gave him an advantage. He was a decent fighter, cunning and devious. Having experienced what Shanky is capable of first hand, he thought he should at least give him a go. 

These folks did their best and honestly Titus couldn't have asked for a better crew to go into the heart of death with. 

They made Martinaise a better place. They made it a bit more inhabitable. The people who came from outside could feel like they could go to sleep without fearing a shower of bullets raining on them unexpectedly. 

Of course there was still a lot to be done. But they celebrated their little victories. 

"To the Hardie boys." Glen lifted his bottle. 

"To us." Titus clanged the mouth of their bottles together. As much as Titus valued his boys, there would be nothing that can replace his friendship with Glen. The man was his life long partner. They have survived the unthinkable. 

"To live and die with you, T.” They hooked their arms together, Titus drinking from Glen’s beer and vice versa.

“Would really prefer for us to stay alive, buddy.”

They sat in silence for a while, watching the world go by, and then Glen supported himself against Titus, taking a long drink of his beer. Titus leaned back and placed his free hand behind Glen. The wind carried the stench of decay from where they had hung some guy’s corpse. It was a bad idea, they knew it was. But they did it anyway. No use lamenting on past mistakes. 

“Can I ask you a question, T?”

“Well that’s a fuckin dumb question, ain’t it?” The blonde punched him playfully on the arm. He chuckled. “I’m just kiddin’, shoot.”

“Do you like that woman? You know, hot blonde?”

His chuckle escalated to a hearty laugh.”Are you jealous, Glen?”

Glen’s expression stiffened. “Shut the fuck up, no I’m not.” He followed his words with more beer almost immediately.

Clearly Titus seemed to have a thing for blondes. He would be lying if he said he didn’t like Miss Oranje Dancer. She was beautiful and charming. He enjoyed her company. But she could never replace Glen for him.

“Well do you like that Ruby chick? How about that?”

“No, you fuckin’ asshole! She’s my friend.”

“Well you’ve been spendin’ a lot of time with her.”

“Are YOU jealous?” He said with a smirk.

“No.” He didn’t have a reason to be. Ruby was a lesbian. Glen was gay. It would never happen. But… he was a little jealous for other reasons. He was jealous that not only did she spend a lot of time with Glen, but she also went after the same chick he liked. Not to mention, he wasn’t really a fan of how his group sometimes saw her as the leader. But it was whatever really, or at least he tried to convince himself. 

He wrapped an arm around his friend and took a sip of his beer. “I’m still your best friend though, right?”

Glen laughed softly. "Well that’s a fuckin dumb question, ain’t it?” He mocked. 

Titus pressed his lips to the side of Glen’s head, and the two of them laughed afterwards. 

Some days later they found themselves drinking alone again, at the dead of night, when most of Martinaise was asleep. The cranes rustled behind them and the waves crashed against the ships The doors of the open empty containers danced with the wind. 

In the silence, Glen’s voice sounded like broken glass. “I still love you, T.”

Titus was full of mixed emotions hearing that; Happy, angry, sad, relieved. After all these years… The two of them still carried the torch. But Glen made him wait so damn long…

"So now you love me? Don't recall you usin' that word back then."

"But I did love you. I was just..." He didn't have to say it. Titus understood and yet he still couldn't find it in himself to just forgive Glen. He didn't say anything, he just took drag of his cigarette.

“I know you like that woman, that Oranje chick. But I just thought I’d let you know.”

It hurt, the pain in Glen's voice as he said that hurt Titus more than getting stabbed in the guts.

"Is it too late?"

"Don't know, gimme ten years to think about it."

Glen sighed. "Okay. I get it, I fucked up. I fucked up real bad. But it's hard for me, T." 

Titus gave him a soft smile, he wanted to reassure him. He knew him better than anyone. Glen didn't have to explain himself. “I know.”

“Feelin’s fucked. Don’t know how to work through ‘em.” He took a sip of his drink, hoping it would help him form some sensible words. “I just know bein’ angry and kickin’ ass.”

Titus chuckled. “And you do ‘em pretty well.”

…

…

Fuck it. 

Memento Mori, right?

He watched him down the rest of his beer and waited for him to lower his bottle then kissed him so that if they were to die tomorrow, they would have no regrets. He had lived his life to the fullest, and fucking damn it, he would end it in the best damn way too! 

This moment was worth the years of pain, and he'll make sure to make every kiss from now on count, and plant flowers all over his friend, now lover's body, so if there was still any doubt in his head, then he could grow to love himself.

Right now, he had his boys, he had his district, he had the union, and he had his best friend, his lover. He had it all. He was on top of the fucking world. 


	9. Epilogue: The Hardie Boys

“How are we lookin’ boys?”

“Hot as fuck, boss.” The blonde responded with a grin. His fingers were decorated with two golden brass knuckles, attached to them was a small gun, and the tip of it was a knife. He called it a ‘Knuckle Duster.’ The thing was bloodied from their last mission which included a drug bust. Speaking of which, the boys were busy finding a place to get rid of said drugs. (Some places included their own pockets but don’t worry they only have a bit of it.)

“All good here, boss.” Alain said, dusting his hands off after dropping a few more of the drugs inside the container where they planned to keep them until they figured where to dump them.

“Gang is taken care off, boss,” Eugene added. “Took their guns too.”

“Would love to take a look at them later.” 

“Of course you would, Glen.”

“Angus?” Titus looked at the big fellow manning the radio.

“All clear, Titus.”

Titus nodded at his boys. “Casualties?”

“Injured, no deaths.”

“Any bystanders?”

“No injured bystanders."

“Any run aways?”

“Not as far as we know, boss.”

Titus clapped his hands together. “Nice work, boys!” He placed one arm around Alain and the other around Glen. “That’s what I’m fuckin’ talking’ about! I’m sure Evrart will be calling’ me in any minute now to see what he wants to do with these drugs.”

“Should we gather the people?” Alain asked.

“Yeah, I should be there by the time you’re done.”

The group nodded and then scattered. Titus went to Evrart Claire’s office, the big boss behind the Union. The man was expecting him.

“Good work, Titus, real good work. Love what you’re doing out there. It’s really keeping the place going.”

If Titus could help it, he really appreciated if he didn’t have to talk to Evrart for long. Something about his messed up eyes made him very uncomfortable. He shifted the weight of his body from one leg to the other and crossed his arms over his chest. “Yeah, well we’re just doing what we can.”

“Very humble of you. Anyway, my men already know which container you left the drugs in,” of course they did. “And I understand that you want to talk to the people of Martinaise, right? What exactly do you plan on telling them?”

The man grinned. “That the Hardie boys are here, and they can rest, knowing that we’ll be watching over them and the district.”

“Ah, a little pep talk,” He tapped his fingers together. “Very nice. You know, Titus. You’ve always been such a good leader. Your men look up to you. But you know you can’t have success without making some enemies along the way so you be real careful.”

Titus huffed. “Enemies? I’m very confident in my men and their abilities. If we make enemies, you be damn sure we’re gonna knock ‘em down.”

“Of course, of course. I know. I have no doubt that you and your Hardie Boys are capable of handling yourselves. Anyway, best not keep the people waiting.” 

That was all that Titus needed to hear before he excused himself.

In the middle of Martinaise, the Hardie boys have set up a stage of sort for Titus to address the people. The citizens of Martinaise gathered up. Titus stood in the middle of his boys, Alain to his left, Glen to his right, and he smiled confidently at the crowd. “People of Martinaise,” he began, “My name is Titus Hardie, these are my men,” he gestured towards his boys. “The Hardie boys. We’re sure you’ve seen us around before, we work for the Union. But we also work for you, for Martinaise. This place ain’t much, but we love it to death, don’t we?”

There were murmurs from the crowd. 

Titus went on. “Cops haven’t shown their faces in decades. Those pigs don’t care about what happens to Martinaise! But we care. You might have already seen us bust some baddies before, and we plan on continuing to do that.”

“You also bust tables, you drunks.” Came a yell from the crowd.

“Sorry, man,” he chuckled. "We’ll try to take the fights out next time. Send a tab to Evrart, Garte. He’ll take care of it.”

“Someone better.”

Titus ignored the grumpy hostel manager and went on.”Well you people can rest assured that the Hardie Boys will always be on the job. We want to keep you folks safe. You don’t gotta worry about walking’ down the streets no more. No more crossfires, no more dyin’ kids, no more gang wars. We’re gonna do our damn best to make sure of that,” he paused and his smile softened. “Truth is, we got no one but each other. Ain’t no one gonna help us but ourselves. The people who come to Martinaise? Ya’ll are folks with no other home. Some of ya’ll were born here and you know how hard it is to live in this place. Abusive parents, alcoholics, drug addicts, you struggle every day just to make it through. And those of you who are from outside, you came lookin’ for a home, maybe you had no where else to go, maybe you were runnin’ from somethin’. Believe us, we know how tough it is. We experienced it first hand. That’s why we want to give you folks a chance at a better life.We don’t care who you are, so long as you are here then you are under our protection.”

Titus half expected people to get rallied up, but they didn’t. Instead their faces looked at him with understanding, with sympathy, and most of all, with hope. They didn’t scream as though this was a revolution, but they were hopeful that finally, Martinaise would be more than ruins. Some of the people smiled at him, genuine smiles of people who are glad that someone was doing something. That was enough for Titus.

“We won’t let you folks down. Rest easy. The Hardie Boys are here.”

Behind him, his boys raised their fists and their voice echoed through the streets as one.

From then on, the Hardies knew they had to prove themselves to the people. They had to earn their spot as the Authority in Martinaise. It was a constant grind, but the people began to turn to them when they needed help. Bit by bit, they began to see the Hardies as the sheriffs of this town. Titus was proud of what he and his boys have accomplished. But just because they got one foot in the door, it didn’t mean their story was over, it was far from it. Martinaise wasn’t simply going to put itself back together. Rome wasn’t built in a day. Heck, Titus knew that now, they’ll never stop till they were dead, and god damn it, for their home and their people, the Hardie boys were willing to do anything! They were here to stay, till death do them part.


End file.
